I hate a lie as I do poison, but I had to exercise all my Christian principles not to tell one then.
"No," said I, "I didn't see her, but I don't always have to use my eyes to know what is going on in my neighbor's houses." Which is true enough, if it is somewhat humiliating to confess it.
"O ma'am, how smart you are, ma'am! I wish I had some smartness in me. But my husband had all that. He was a man—O what's that?"
"Nothing but the tea-caddy; I knocked it over with my elbow."
"How I do jump at everything! I'm afraid of my own shadow ever since I saw that poor thing lying under that heap of crockery."
"I don't wonder."
"She must have pulled those things over herself, don't you think so, ma'am? No one went in there to murder her. But how came she to have those clothes on. She was dressed quite different when I let her in. I say it's all a muddle, ma'am, and it will be a smart man as can explain it."
"Or a smart woman," I thought.
"Did I do wrong, ma'am? That's what plagues me. She begged so hard to come in, I didn't know how to shut the door on her. Besides her name was Van Burnam, or so she told me."
Here was a coil. Subduing my surprise, I remarked: